


snake in the grass

by vestigialwords



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: non explicit reference to rape and torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestigialwords/pseuds/vestigialwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumlow takes a liking to one of his nurses--a tiny slip of a thing called Erica. She bustles into his room every morning without pausing at the door, demands that his restraints be removed when they've been left on overnight. She can't possibly top 5'3" in shoes and she swims in her scrubs, but her shining smile and bright red hair pulled back tightly into a bun at the base of her neck make her a ray of light against the rest of the military humdrum that files through his door every day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	snake in the grass

**Author's Note:**

> Please See End Notes for Warnings.
> 
> Also posted [on my tumblr](http://jakejensen.co.vu/post/98611457339/a-volunteer-search-and-rescue-team-uncovers).

A volunteer search and rescue team uncovers Rumlow's semi-conscious body buried deep in the rubble of the Triskelon, and at first, he's triaged just the same as everyone else. He fades in and out of consciousness, but he's aware enough to know that EMS is ready to declare him a lost cause until he's identified by a junior agent (Carter better watch her fucking ass) as a member of HYDRA's STRIKE team. Almost immediately, he's swept off to a secure military hospital and placed under constant surveillance. He has severe burns and bruising over most of his body and it's quicker for the doctors to list the bones that aren't broken when they pass him on to the next poor bastard assigned his case. In fact, it's several weeks before anyone even feels comfortable talking about him living through the night, let alone surviving long enough to stand trial. 

(He doubts it'll ever come to that--he's more likely to disappear into the bowels of SHIELD's storage units, left to rot, visited only for the occasional "chat" about newly uncovered HYDRA intelligence.)

Everyone who doesn't hate him looks at him with pity, and that's the part that makes him truly want to throw up. Hatred he understands, but cowardice makes his blood boil. He makes many of the nurses deeply uncomfortable, though he doesn't give a shit. Most of the staff tiptoes around him and either refuses meet his eye or demands that he be shackled to the bed before they approach him. He doesn't have the strength to fight when the guards approach him with cuffs, just makes note of those still scared of him, the ones over whom he still has power. He has no interest in making friends, especially not with anyone who's a broken Hippocratic Oath away from executing him. 

He can't quite help himself though, he takes a liking to one of the nurses--a tiny slip of a thing called Erica. She bustles into his room every morning without pausing at the door, demands that his restraints be removed when they've been left on overnight. She can't possibly top 5'3" in shoes and she swims in her scrubs, but her shining smile and bright red hair pulled back tightly into a bun at the base of her neck make her a ray of light against the rest of the military humdrum that files through his door every day.

She's always so sweet to him, stern enough to be authoritative, but deferential enough that she's not a threat, either to him or the sergeants she shoos from his room with a wave of her hand. She's good at her job too--he never feels the needle when she administers his injections, and her hands are warm and comforting against his skin. She shoulders his attitude with a demure smile when he's in a bad mood and flirts with him just enough to put him at ease when he's not. It reminds him that he had been a handsome man, could once have a woman pliant in his arms with nothing more than a shy smile and a well-timed compliment. 

This one, he watches almost predatorily, grinning at her with too much teeth in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The list of things he wants to do to her grows longer and more perverse each day, and he wonders how long it would take to break her, whether she would scream, cry, or beg. The burn unit's attending physician seems to notice how his attention drifts, and whispers a barrage of threats under his breath as he performs his exams.

Rumlow can't help but bark out a laugh. It's adorable, really.

He wakes up one night to the harsh blaring of an alarm, the floor of the hospital plunged into darkness except for the rotating red flash of the emergency light. His mind goes white with panic--this is it. Rogers, Barnes, Coulson, whoever, has finally sent their goons in for him--no trial, no nothing. He doesn't take it personally; he's different than Rogers in that respect, because he couldn't argue that he'd have done anything different in their position. His whole body remembers vividly being pinned under the rubble of the Triskelon. He needs something for it. He needs-- _morphine_. He reaches over, pushes the button to release his dose, and it's a slight relief, but not nearly enough. Diluted, then.

He tries to push himself up and out of bed, past the pain like the soldier that he is, but his legs give out instantly and he falls face-first to the floor. He renders a half-hearted attempt to push himself up, but the sprains in his elbows and shoulders haven't healed enough to bear his weight. So he presses his cheek against the cool tiles and he counts the seconds until he feels the cold barrel of a gun at his neck.

Rumlow doesn't feel the needle slipping under the skin of his arm, so when he feels the darkness slip over his mind, he's grateful that Rogers is a better man than he is and did the job clean.

Instead, he wakes up in a soft bed, drowning in blankets, the silk sheets scraping like sandpaper on his burns. A tree taps a gentle rhythm on the windowpane and a bird chirps happily in the distance, but it hits his head like a jackhammer. He blinks the haze out of his eyes, rubbing at them to relieve some of the pressure, but only succeeds in making the pounding worse.

A familiar form sits silhouetted in the piercing light through the window.

"Morphine?" He asks, his voice is dry and cracked, and he turns his head to look at the empty space where his morphine drip had stood in the hospital. The shadow leans forward to loom over him, a toothy grin twisting and contorting her face into a cruel caricature of its former self as she shakes her head, red hair spilling forward over her shoulders and into his face. 

"Order through pain, baby." Her words slice the silence like a hot knife, and Rumlow can't help himself.

He grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Rumlow fantasizes about raping/torturing Erica/Sinthea. The narrative doesn't go into his fantasy in any detail.


End file.
